


Keeping it Clean

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Embarrassment, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2538920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dimo has installed a new shower in the caves outside Mechanicsburg.  Mr Wooster tries it out.</p><p>Once.  And never again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping it Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently there was a thing earlier this year called the Gen Shower Challenge, which involved having two characters take a shower together in a gen way. Now gen is not a problem for me - I write nothing else - but the shower? That was a challenge.
> 
> So, of course, I just had to put the most easily embarrassed character in Girl Genius in with the least easily embarrassed. Oh, Mr Wooster. Forgive me!

Mr Wooster normally had a strong preference for baths over showers. As far as he was concerned, there was very little to beat relaxing in a zinc tub in front of the fire, especially here in the caves, where he had only to ask the nearest Jäger and they would bring him the whole tub full of hot water at one fell swoop – no running around waiting for kettles while the water already in the tub got cold.

But there was a shower in the caves now, and Dimo was so obviously proud of it that Mr Wooster felt honour bound to use the thing at least once, just to show respect. It was Adam who had started the ball rolling; he was too big to sit in any of the tubs that were available, and so he had, to begin with, been confined to unsatisfactory stand-up washes. On discovering this, Dimo had got the bit between his teeth. No adoptive parent of the Lady Heterodyne was going to get anything less than the best available, as far as he was concerned; and so a shower there was going to be, even if it meant Dimo had to give himself an almighty headache working out how to implement it.

In fact, it had not turned out to be too difficult. The running water had been the easy part, since the caves were full of natural streams and waterfalls. It had just been a question of finding a suitable stream and channelling it in the right way. The heating system had been rather more of a challenge; building a boiler to heat the water was not hard in itself, since there were people in the caves who were competent with machinery, Adam among them. It was just the fine control that had proved a little tricky. But now, there it was, as good a shower as anyone could ask for; a sturdy wooden cubicle surrounded it for privacy, divided into an outer part where you could put your clothes and towel and an inner part containing the shower itself. Each part had little shelves where you could put your soap and any other necessities, and inside the shower part there was a big brass wheel you could turn to adjust the temperature. And Dimo was one extremely satisfied Jäger.

Of course, the thing with the shower, Mr Wooster reflected, was that it was where it was. You had to go to it. Unlike a bath, you could not have it brought to you. That meant making very sure that you had all the things you were going to need, unless you wanted to risk the possibility of having to rush through the caves clad only in a towel, an idea that made him shudder at the mere prospect. So he checked and double-checked that he had the thermal union suit, the trousers, the waistcoat, the shirt, the collar, both the cuffs, the socks, and all the requisite little pieces of metalwork which kept his shirt and collar and cuffs looking like a neat ensemble rather than several random pieces of stiff white fabric. Yes... four shirt studs, two cuff studs, front collar stud, back collar stud, and cufflinks. All present and correct. And the towel, and the soap, and the sponge. It was like a military operation.

He packed everything up neatly into a bag and went off to the shower. The caves were large, and it was quite a way from his room. On the way he bumped into Dimo, and mentioned that he was going to try out the new shower.

“Hope hyu like it, Mister Vooster,” said Dimo. “Hy tried it earlier. Is really goot.”

Mr Wooster was far too polite to show any signs of surprise, but, nonetheless, much as he liked and respected the Jägers, he also knew their ways very well, and was aware that those ways did not always include a particularly fastidious concern for personal hygiene. “Glad to hear it, Dimo,” he replied, instead.

“Ja. All de Jägers are luffing it. Is der best vay to keep nize und clean. Ven hyu try it, hyu von't vant no more baths,” said Dimo happily.

Possibly novelty value, thought Mr Wooster. Still, I suppose if you're a Jäger and you've got the strength of several humans, zinc tubs must be difficult. You'd probably keep bending them by accident. Maybe that's all it is, after all; it could be they're not intrinsically unhygienic, but they just don't like zinc bathtubs.

“Well, I'm not sure about that,” he replied, with a smile. “I do enjoy my baths. Still, I wouldn't want to go without trying it, at least.”

“Hyu von't regret it,” Dimo promised.

Later, Mr Wooster was to have occasion to remind him he had said that.

He checked first that it was not currently occupied, then went inside and latched himself in. The latch did not seem particularly secure, but at least it seemed to hold enough to signal to a potential showerer that there was already someone in there. He undressed quickly, put the clothes he had been wearing into a separate bag, picked up the soap and sponge, and walked through to the inner cubicle with the shower in it.

Now Mr Wooster, like so many of us, was one of those people who sings in the bath, and it was therefore natural that he should also do so in the shower. He had a fine, rich, though untrained baritone; it was certainly good enough for an amateur Gilbert & Sullivan production, and indeed he had been in a couple of those at Cambridge, but he also had a tendency to try more ambitious material at times, such as Handel. When he sang Handel, his voice generally came apart on the melismas. Still, he enjoyed it, and surely nobody could begrudge him that, given how complicated his life generally was.

He also liked singing light German operetta. He was doing that now.

_“Glücklich ist, wer vergißt  
was nicht doch zu andern ist...”_

The door burst open, causing Mr Wooster to let out an undignified yelp and swing round so fast to face the wall that he very nearly slipped and fell. “Maxim!” he spluttered, over his shoulder. “What... the... ?”

Maxim walked into the cubicle, completely unfazed. “Hyu got a problem?” he asked, starting to soap himself. “Nize voice, by der vay.”

“Of _course_ I've got a problem,” said Mr Wooster, his hand shooting up to his temple and running automatically through his hair. “I am trying to have a shower here. In case you had not noticed.”

“Vell, is room,” replied Maxim. “Ve Jägers dun mind.”

“I mind!” Mr Wooster exploded. “Maxim, I am not a Jäger. I am an Englishman.” He realised, even as he said it, how ridiculous it sounded.

“Vell, hy not gonna bite hyu yust because hyu got notting on,” said Maxim reasonably.

“Look,” said Mr Wooster, exasperated. “Just. Let. Me. Out.”

“Vy? Dun mind me. Hyu yust finish hyu shower,” said Maxim. “Und hy dun mind if hyu sing.”

“Do you not begin to understand the concept of embarrassment?” Mr Wooster demanded. “And, anyway, how did you get in? I latched the door.”

“Ho ja, dat. Is alvays a bit loose. Anyvay, hy figured it vos yust anodder of de boys.”

“You didn't hear me singing?” Mr Wooster asked, tiredly. He was fairly certain that, although he had been singing in German, he did not sound like a Jäger.

“Not dat clearly. Der boiler makes qvite a lot of noise from outside. Hey, hyu vant me to schcrub hyu back?”

“NO!!! … er... no, thank you, Maxim,” Mr Wooster amended, clinging desperately to his few remaining shreds of dignity.

“Hy dun see vot all der fuss is about,” said Maxim blithely. “Hy mean, ve all look der same under der clothes. Yust different colours. Vell, apart from Oggie's feet, but is not like he vears anyting on dem anyvay.”

“Look, do you Jägers always walk in on one another when you're having a shower, or is this some kind of complicated wind-up?” asked Mr Wooster. “Because if it's the latter, let me tell you, Maxim, this time you have gone too far.”

“No, ve do,” said Maxim earnestly. “Is not a problem for us. Is yust friendly. Hyu ask any of de odders.”

“Just... friendly,” Mr Wooster echoed heavily. “I see. I now begin to see why the latch is next to useless. Ah, how I love cultural differences.”

“Hyu do?”

“No, Maxim, I do not. It is a thing called sarcasm. However, I can see why it passed over your head, because I don't tend to use it until I get to the point where I am really not coping.”

“Hy dun see vy hyu not coping,” said Maxim, with a shrug.

Mr Wooster let out a heavy sigh. “No, I suppose you don't. I imagine explanations are pretty much useless here. Now, listen. I have finished my shower. I am about to go out into the other cubicle and get dressed. Please humour me and close your eyes while I do so. Thank you.”

“But hy already seen...”

“Just be a good friend and do it anyway?”

“Ho-kay,” said Maxim, amiably. “Hy schtill dun know vy hyu so upset, but hy dun vant to make it any vorse.” He closed his violet eyes. “Dere hyu go. Hy von't peek. Hy promise.”

“Thank you,” said Mr Wooster, with feeling. He slipped out of the cubicle and closed the connecting screen. “All right, Maxim, you can open them again. I'm out.”

“Hyu mind if hy sing now?” asked Maxim.

“Not at all. Be my guest.” Mr Wooster wrapped himself gratefully in his towel and started drying himself vigorously. And after this, he vowed to himself, it is going to be baths every single time. I am never going to go through anything like that again.

Maxim had a surprisingly pleasant tenor, and he at once launched into a sentimental love song addressed to someone called Rosa. This was followed, in quick succession, by a sentimental love song addressed to someone called Marta and a sentimental love song addressed to someone called Natasha. Maxim was nothing if not generous in his affections.

By the time he stepped out of the shower cubicle, Mr Wooster was just fastening the front of his collar. He turned his head away automatically, but he had nonetheless noticed a curious fact about Maxim's appearance, since the Jäger had not bothered to warn him that he was coming out.

“Maxim,” he said. “Why on earth are you still wearing your hat?”

Maxim was shocked.

“Vot a qvestion, Mister Vooster!” he exclaimed. “Vy, hy vould feel _naked_ vitout it.”


End file.
